200 Drabbles from 221b
by JuliaxAnne
Summary: attempt at 200 prompt challenge from livejournal. hopefully daily updates. mostly John/Sherlock. genre and rating will vary.
1. Crash

Prompt #1 Crash

Characters: Sherlock and John

Sherlock's hard drive crashes. Short but I kind of like it.

A.N. I'm attempting a 200 prompt drabble challenge thing. wish me luck- I've got 7 so far (no beta) genres will vary, rating will as well, even arc's if i get that into it.

Disclaimer: I am not making any profit off borrowing these characters from the BBC

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><p>His hard drive had never failed him before, able to pull up seemingly random facts at a moment's notice. What he never considered was the variable of John Watson, the very same man who brought him to his current predicament. He was the only person who could derail Sherlock's train of thought. Sherlock had been in the midst of an important experiment which involved a big toe, a microwave and spinach (a man's life depended on his findings) when Watson walked out of the bathroom, wearing only a towel hung low on his hips. Beads of water trickled down from his still wet hair, the slender man watched as a droplet slid from his neck down his well-toned chest; swallowing slightly as it reached the towel. John didn't say a word- didn't even seem to realize what he'd done- he just smiled lazily as he turned to head to his room. Behind closed doors John smirked to himself and took pride in the fact that he was the only one to successfully cause Sherlock's 'hard drive' to crash.<p> 


	2. Dim

Summary: Sherlock reflects on the Yarders

Dim

Not really fond of this prompt but at least this'll get the ball rolling

Character(s): Sherlock

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><p>How could they all be so <em>stupid<em>? Why couldn't they just open their eyes and see exactly what was in front of them. It was bad enough that John couldn't accompany him there today, apparently there was a flu outbreak and the clinic was understaffed. Time after time he found himself being called upon to help the hapless detectives from The Yard and for what? Lestrade still looked on in disbelief, Donovan still called him a _freak_ and Anderson still manages to lower the IQ of a five block radius.

The latest case the yarders called him in on was solved in all of ten minutes. Anyone with half a brain could tell that the husband was responsible for the murder, his unpolished wedding ring proved the two had been unhappily married for at least five years, the way his eyes darted up and to the left when he spoke of how he found his wife suffocated in their own bed was a clear indication of lying about the whole thing, the subtle wringing of his hands didn't help support his claims at all. Marcus Little confessed within minutes of hearing Holmes' deduction.


	3. Futile

Futile

Characters: Sherlock and John

Summary: The man truly was impossible sometimes. Hints to slash but nothing major. Hopefully I start making these things longer… not even 200 on the story; that's gotta change.

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><p>Try as he might John cannot say no. Whenever he received a text from Sherlock he immediately responded; much to Sarah's chagrin. But in reality who could fault him? The younger man had a knack for getting himself in trouble- his last case almost ended up with a trip to Bart's courtesy of a knife wielding serial arsonist. Luckily, he was able to patch Holmes up with only ten stitches in his forearm, the bruised ribs were wrapped and a cold compress for the nasty shiner he was currently sporting. So when Dr. Watson gets a text saying "<em>come if convenient, if not come all the same"<em> he doesn't hesitate to break off the date he planned with Sarah the day before to rush home to Baker Street. He doesn't even get angry anymore when it turns out to be for grabbing his phone or nicotine patches ("_John, I need them; this is a four patch problem and I only have two") _He knows now that resistance is futile versus the force of nature that is Sherlock Holmes.


	4. Erratic

Erratic

Characters: John and Sherlock

Sometimes Watson doubted that even the energizer bunny could keep up with Holmes.

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><p>He didn't know how the other man did it, running all over the streets of London on a regular basis with barely and sleep and more nicotine patches than what could possibly be safe. Watson sometimes doubted that even the energizer bunny could keep up with Holmes on a case- not that the other man would know who that was. Sherlock just seemed to be full of an almost erratic amount of energy- belying the fact that the man never seemed to sleep, hardly ever ate, and probably thought nicotine patches were a part of his essential food groups (brain food he calls it). Actually erratic was good word to describe the younger Holmes. He was unpredictable, and about as irregular as the get- especially his black moods which seemed to come and go at an almost alarming rate; one moment he could be flying through <em>Beethoven Violin<em> Concerto Movement #3 and the next he could be attempting to deafen you with the piercing sound of nails on a chalkboard all in the name of boredom. Sherlock was a very erratic man indeed.


	5. Loved

Loved

Characters: Sherlock and John. Slashy fluff. Little bit longer

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><p>Before John Watson, Sherlock never felt loved, nor did he have a desire to be loved. He was married to his work and nothing would change that. Or so he thought. He didn't know what to believe when the shorter man with a psychosomatic limp came into his life. He was damn sure the man would see common sense and distance himself like all of the others, but John surprised him time and time again.<p>

First with the compliments, he really wasn't used to them- though they were nice, they made him feel as though butterflies were fluttering around his stomach. Second with his fierce loyalty, not many people were willing to stand up to Mycroft (although truth be told, Watson still had no idea about what his brother was capable of), and the way his eyes hardened just so whenever Donovan called him a freak. And the way he was willing to sacrifice himself in order to save Sherlock from the mad man, Moriarty. Third was the fact that he stayed as long as he had, not many people were able to put up with Sherlock in high doses; most loathed spending just five minutes with the infuriatingly brilliant man. John was easily going on four months.

John was a puzzle he just couldn't solve, much like that accursed Rubik's cube; so many hidden layers covered up by an air of simplicity. He'd wracked his hard drive for a method to tell John his dilemma, coming up short until his most recent case. There had been a _slight_ miscalculation which lead to Sherlock waking up in a hospital bed with John hunched over onto the bed, asleep not by choice but by exhaustion he noted upon seeing the black bags under John's eyes. His unbandaged hand was loosely enclosed in the other mans, and Sherlock felt his heart swell in that moment. He squeezed the other mans' hand to the best of his semi-conscious ability, grinning as the other man stirred- his eyes lit up with elation as he sat up in his chair. Sleep tried to steal Sherlock away again and words seemed to elude him so he did the only other thing he could think of; John leaned over and kissed the top of Sherlock's head. The taller man fell back asleep with a smile gracing his features, loving the fact that John had once again taken him by surprise.


	6. Soft

Soft

Characters: Sherlock and John of course.

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><p>His eyes were normally cold and analytical. At least, that is how they looked to the untrained eye- John Watson knew much better than that. At a crime scene Sherlock was in his element, taking in every slight detail with quick precision and making accurate deductions that most people couldn't even shined slightly when Watson complimented him after a simple deduction. In the work place he was nothing if not professional, however; within the comfort of 221b Baker Street he let his aloof mask fall from his countenance. His eyes lightened up as he plucked his Stradivarius, making short work of <em>Vivaldi's Four Seasons<em>. They grew stormy after watching the crap telly that John insisted on watching during the evening (honestly, how could the man not know that the alleged authentic doubloon was really a counterfeit- the facing was _backwards_ for god's sake!). Though more than anything, John saw how they softened as Sherlock gazed at him when he thought he wasn't looking. He would have to do something about that, he thought with a smirk as he retreated to his room for the night.


	7. Hold

Hold

Summary a continuation of the last piece. Sherlock had a bad day and John makes it better. Preslash

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><p>John knew it hadn't been a good day when the front door slammed shut. Sherlock had made a beeline for his bedroom and closed the door behind him. Moments later the shrieking notes of the Stradivarius being tortured filled the apartment. Must have been a bad day, John cursed the fact that he'd been held up at the clinic all day. Without even really thinking, the former soldier tread over to Sherlock's door and knocked. The violin went silent.<p>

"Sherlock?" no reply.

Not even a moment later his phone vibrated, one new text message.

_Victim was a three year old girl poisoned by daycare provider._

_Two other children died, couldn't fight it off._

_The woman committed suicide. He was just too late._

_-MH_

Realization hit him like a ton of bricks- Sherlock blamed himself for what happened to the children. Contrary to popular belief; the eccentric man did have emotions- ones he felt deeply. He placed his phone in his pocket and knocked again.

"Sherlock, can I come in?" he'd never been inside the other mans' bedroom, but he could imagine what it'd look like; textbooks all over the floor, experiments on the table, the works. There was silence in the apartment still, until his phone vibrated a second time.

_Yes._

_-SH_

It had to be bad if the other man was down to using single word responses, he pushed the door open only to be surprised at the state of the room. Everything was tidy, books in their shelves, no experiments in sight, and a rather distraught consulting detective sitting on the edge of a large bed. John strode over to him and sat beside him, noticing the slight trembling that overtook the younger man. And if he didn't know any better he'd say the detective had been crying, although his hair did a fine job of obscuring his face. John placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, noticing how the man went rigid for a moment before relaxing into the gesture.

"Do you want to talk about it? It might help." He knew better than to pry, if Sherlock wanted to tell him what was wrong he would tell him when he was ready. For the first time since John walked into the room Sherlock lifted his head, revealing bloodshot eyes and the faintest traces of tear stains on his pale countenance.

"She killed them, because her own daughter died- accidentally ate rat poisoning three months ago. She gave the pellets to the three children because they resembled her dead daughter. They were only children." His voice started to uncharacteristically crack as he trailed off. John decided then and there that he did not like seeing the other man distraught at all. He pulled the slender man into his arms, holding him close to keep him from falling to pieces. A few silent tears fell from his eyes as he spared on more thought on the children he was unable to save and the woman who had taken the easy way out by taking the same poison herself. Watson held him all the same, placing a kiss atop the fragile mans' head as he tried to make sense of everything. He promised to do anything he could to keep this brilliant man from cracking into pieces.


	8. Shackles

Prompt: shackles

Now that just calls for a little h/c now doesn't it? This is going to be the first part in a three-shot, as much as I love to whump Sherlock; I believe it is John's turn. (Reviews would be stellar- there are 292 of you out there.) ok ok ok random thing that made me psyched. I copied from start to when Sherlock got into the building and pasted it into iwl .me and it gave me Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Win.

A.N. Thank you Flaring Rhythm, Livin'LaVidaLoki, MalinChan, and Michi-Chan2 for putting this on alert, and a special thanks to you Flaring Rhythm for the fav

Warning: hints to violence.

Word count 1666

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><p>The first things that John Watson noticed as he awoke were that he was blindfolded and that the cuffs around his wrists were far too tight for his liking. The events of yesterday came back to him, he was out to pick up some milk when a van pulled up aside him and pulled him in- one chloroform laced handkerchief later and he was out cold. At first John assumed that they were Moriarty's men, only to reject the idea as paranoia. He'd been shackled to a damp stone wall, wrists hanging above his head as he sat. His injured shoulder groaned in protest. His mouth felt dry, a rag (<em>how did he not notice the rag?)<em> had been placed around his mouth to quiet him.

There was no sound inside the dark room, nothing aside from the sound of his muffled breathing. He attempted to calm himself, that Sherlock would arrive soon and rescue him. Perhaps he did idolize the eccentric man, he shook the thought away- now was not the time to become philosophical. He scrambled to his feet just as soon as the door of the room swung open.

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><p>John was missing, of this Sherlock was certain. The doctor had gone out the previous night to buy milk again as usual and never came home. Naturally, after he had a suspicion that something was amiss he went out looking for John. The usual check-out clerk said she hadn't even seen John, and a knot began to settle in the pit of his stomach. He thanked the girl before exiting the store, texting his 'arch-nemesis' Mycroft. There was no sign of his flat mate on any CCTV feed in the area, he took a turn off of Baker Street and vanished off the grid. Sherlock all but snarled as a list of possible abductors lined up in his head. The man from his last case was eliminated, the man was currently locked up, the Black Lotus were still an unlikely threat, and he didn't want to think of it possibly being <em>Moriarty<em>- the knot in his stomach tightened. The vile man was a possibility but he'd have gloated about it the moment he'd had John in his clutches.

No, No this was something new, someone they hadn't faced but knew enough to evade his brother's cameras. The answer hit him suddenly; it was a fan of John's blog. The individual, most likely either a woman in her thirties or a man in his late twenties-psychologically unbalanced, former military was a high probability- most likely envious of John's life. The clock was ticking, after hailing a cab to return to Baker Street he typed in the URL to john's blog into his smartphone and began searching through comments for clues.

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><p>John awoke a second time to a world of pain, his capture- former first lieutenant Jack Moore, had made sure he knew exactly why he was currently locked up in a dungeon-like room. First lieutenant Moore had been stationed in Iraq. His entire platoon had been ambushed by insurgents, and an IED had killed most of them- sending shrapnel into Moore's leg, successfully ending Jack's military career. Moore had been the sole survivor of his platoon and the military issued psychologist had said he'd been suffering from PTSD, survivor's guilt, depression and a whole slew of problems. He'd been told similarly write about everything that happened to him- not that anything did, John shuddered as he remembered himself saying the exact same thing. Jack instead proceeded to step into other peoples' lives by reading their blogs.<p>

He stumbled upon John Watson's purely by chance; almost skipping it due to its title. He found himself drawn to the life of John Watson with his odd 'consulting detective' roommate, and even angered that such a plain man so similar to him was having such amazing life. He voiced his opinion of the matter by all put pummeling the bound man; his wrists bled from the shackles digging in, two ribs were cracked, another badly bruised, his shoulder was screaming now- Moore had dug his nails deep into the scar tissue enough to draw blood from the damaged flesh, and blood trailed sluggishly from a cut to the side of his face, and various other bruises covered the defenseless man. What scared John the most (not that he'd say it) was the fact that the blindfold had stayed on the entire time so he never knew where the next hit would land. He had no idea how much time had passed since he lost consciousness due to a blow to the head, but he dread the next time the insane lieutenant returned. His eyes began to droop as his injuries caught up with him again. _Sherlock where are you?_ He thought as sleep stole him away again.

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><p>He had it, he knew who had his John- wait, had he just though <em>his<em> John? The thought was quickly deleted as he was able to track down the IP address of one of John's followers that showed signs of being unstable, words he chose, his general input seemed almost envious. The man's name was former first lieutenant Jack Moore. He made quick work of Jack, noting his military back ground, his injury, medical records, producing an address within minutes. After grabbing the service pistol from its hiding place he flew from the apartment, hailing a cab to take him to the address double time. Fifteen minutes he found himself in front of a rundown loft, in downtown. He gripped the pistol inside his coat pocket, hoping he wasn't too late. He scanned the property- finding a window to the basement large enough to crawl into; the likelihood of John being kept in the basement was higher than anywhere else. Looking through the glass he saw nothing; an empty woodshop, sawdust littered the floor, there was a band saw off to the side, a wall of handsaws, screwdrivers and other tools were on the wall opposite of him. He almost cursed but stopped as he noticed footprints in the sawdust; the dust was old but the prints looked new; there were two sets leading to the tool wall; one looked clear while the other had treads behind them as though someone were dragged. _John!_ He opened the window, lowering himself to the ground.

There had to be a trigger for the wall…somewhere… He noticed one of the hooks was different that the others, he pulled it down and the tool wall moved to the side revealing a stairwell illuminated only by a light at the bottom. He gripped the pistol once more before rushing down the stairs, a large metal door stood before him. He gripped the unlocked door with one hand and slipped the pistol out of his coat with the other; Moore was most likely just inside with John. He braced himself as he pushed the door open; Moore was standing over an unconscious and blindfolded John with a gun trained on his head. A shot went off, before either realized what happened; Moore fell to the ground- a gunshot wound to the chest, _Bullet hit close to heart, prognosis; terminal. _Sherlock thought distantly before rushing to aid his blogger. The room was small with stone walls, under 3 square meters, lit only by a small halogen light bulb the most disturbing sight was the blood that dripped down the shackles that pinned John's hands well above his head. He removed the blindfold and gag, grimacing slightly as dried blood caused the blindfold to stick to his skin. He grabbed the lock pick from inside his wallet and set about unchaining his flat mate. A small groan alerted Sherlock that John was waking up- a sharp cry of pain escaped his lips as his wrists were freed from the manacles. The sight wasn't pretty; the doctor's face was a myriad of different colors; dark purple to rather vile green bruises mottled the other mans' face and arm from what he could see- he could only assume the damage was worse beneath his clothing.

"John, its Sherlock. You're going to be alright." He hoped his voice came out reassuring; he slipped out his phone to call 999.

"Sh'lk" he exhaled, His attention immediately kneeled in front of his fallen friend, and the dispatcher said it'd be ten minutes before a bus arrived.

"I'm here John." He didn't know what else he could do; he wasn't the medically or socially inclined one.

"w'nna go home." He sounded drowsy, weren't you supposed to keep people with head injuries awake? He felt torn, he didn't know where he could touch the other man without causing unnecessary pain.

"John, you need to go to the hospital, and I need you to stay awake for me. John, can you do that?" the other man's head drooped, seemingly not hearing a thing that he had said. Sherlock raised his voice a little.

"John, you need to stay up!" he'll never forget the way the smaller man flinched slightly at his tone; it was heart wrenching even for an alleged high functioning sociopath.

"John, I just need you to stay awake until the ambulance arrives, can you do that for me; please?" the word almost sounded pleading to the slender man, and in fact it was. He was willing to beg to make sure nothing worse happened to his blogger.

"I'll try." He finally got a reply from the damaged man, as one blue eye squinted up to him. That was all he could ask for, time flowed like molasses; minutes seemed to take ages to pass before there was a noise upstairs. _Finally._ He thought as he looked over to the doorway and back at John.

"I'll be right back, I promise." He waited for a nod before rushing towards the stairway, avoiding the corpse of Jack Moore.

"Down Here!" he returned to the room, just as John's eyes slipped close and his body went limp.

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><p>Yep, I'm ending it with a cliff-hanger. don't worry though, part two will be up by tomorrow- the benefits of having time off from work. Please review, seriously- let me know if I suck. And until next time see ya.<p> 


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